Bikes are fun. Bikes are great. Bikes get me to that place faster than my feet can. Bikes can randomly and suddenly switch from pedestrian to vehicle depending on which is more convenient, as far as I’m concerned. Bikes are colorful and can be lifted up the stairs to my apartment easier than my car can. Bikes can shove bugs up my nose and I’ll think of only the joy of the wind in my face. Bikes can go up hills and down hills and even over flat land. Bikes take me down those really short, really steep hills with those four ft. high wild grasses and weeds, and then when I’m done, I am going fast and am adorned with wildlife in my handlebars and spokes and toes.
Bikes are the perfect medium between cars and feet. Bikes go fast like cars, but are simple and easy like feet. Bikes can be understood without knowing how to change a tire. Bikes allow me to be that huge fast dick on the crowded sidewalk where it’s already almost uncomfortable just to walk. Bikes take me into the woods when cars can’t. Bikes take me deep into the woods when my feet can’t. Bikes make me worthy of that subtle, important head nod from other bikers who bike past me. Bikes make me on time for things, or less late. Bikes don’t talk back to me or tell me I should head home as it’s getting dark out.
Bikes are dangerous.
Bikes don’t tell me I should head home as it’s dark out because bikes don’t care about my safety. Bikes ignore stop signs and blow through intersections when it’s pretty super dark out. Bikes knew that there were no cars in that intersection simply because it was indeed so very dark, but bikes did not inform me of that bike cop trailing somewhere behind me. Bikes require red lights at night that are too complicated for me to figure out how to attach them.
Bikes are addicting. Bikes demand continual riding, so that I am riding bikes continually. Bikes fall approximately 2% of the times that you ride them, and people are watching you 90% of the times you are riding them. Bikes break their own rear handbrake so you may only use your front brake whilst searing down very steep pavement toward very fast cars. Bikes flip over forward when you need to use this front brake quickly. Bikes get your foot caught between its pedal and some twisted segment of metal, but you’re not sure exactly which twisted segment of metal because you’re going about 25 mph and preparing for your impending pain-filled crash right in front of that car whose day you are about to make. Bikes demand I ride them down steep steps even though I know this is soon going to hurt me very publicly. Bikes want me to hurt so good.
Bikes are very close, very bad friends.